The Battle of Hisphil Castle (3)
"Hyaaah!"
Irian's spear and Ernandof's mace crashed together—and with that impact as the signal, the soldiers of both sides plunged into combat.
In sheer numbers, Serpina's army held the advantage over the Asius forces stretched across the front. But more than half of Asius's troops were elite soldiers originally mustered at Valharat Castle for the invasion of Lacline Castle—veterans of considerable combat experience, further drilled by a commander of Airen Juliette's caliber. Serpina's northern forces were formidable in their own right, yet the campaign into the central regions had left them with a non-negligible number of wounded, and they had absorbed a substantial contingent of former Brans soldiers. Maintaining formation and fighting as a cohesive unit, they could not help but fall short of Asius.
And more than that—
Clang!
Kh—!
Irian had charged forward full of confidence to duel Ernandof, but a few exchanges were enough to make the truth plain.
This bastard… how the hell is he this strong?!
When he had graduated at the top of the Academy and been thrown into the chaos of war, carving through Brans forces, he had begun to wonder whether he might be even more exceptional than he had believed. Never matching blades with Kalintz Brans still rankled, but he had been winning victory after victory all the same.
And yet—
Of course he was still a green youth who had only just come of age. Set against a general who had played a major role in founding a nation, he was bound to fall short. Comparing Ernandof at the height of his power with Irian, who still had room to grow, might not have been entirely fair—but this was not the Academy. This was a battlefield. Growth meant nothing here. One wrong move and you simply died.
At the Academy, defeat meant redoubling your training and becoming stronger. Here—
Here, if you lose, you die…!
Irian eased his horse backward and melted into the press of his own soldiers.
Ernandof swung his mace and bellowed.
"Running away?! For all that big talk, you're a pathetic little thing!"
Hmph. Bark all you want.
Irian had a strong sense of pride, but he was not the sort of commander who staked his life on unwinnable fights—the kind who lived and died by honor alone. Death was the end. That was the teaching his late father had left him.
And it was not only his own life at stake. If he dragged out a fight he was certain to lose and ended up with his head rolling on the ground, the morale of Serpina's army—stripped of its commander—would plummet in an instant. He could single-handedly wreck the overwhelmingly advantageous situation his lord had so carefully arranged.
Irian feared ruining that advantage through his own misjudgment far more than he feared dying.
"…What a dull whelp!"
Ernandof, for his part, saw no reason to chase him. He turned instead to the soldiers fighting around him and began cutting them down in earnest. His mace sent several men flying with every swing.
Irian swapped his weapon for the bow slung across his back, loosed arrows toward Ernandof and the enemy ranks to draw their eyes, and shouted,
"Hold the line! Don't panic! At this rate, we have the advantage!"
"Waaaaaah!!"
At the front, Asius was not crushing Serpina's forces outright, but they were steadily winning ground. The problem lay at the rear, where Asius troops were locked against the mercenary company.
"Aaaagh!"
"Help me!"
"Fight to the death!!"
Unlike the front, where the enemy's presence had been known and the fighting deliberate, the rear had been hit by a sudden ambush. Formations had dissolved into chaos, and soldiers were melting away without ever managing a proper fight.
What do I do? Call Ern back from the front? But he's holding Serpina's army up there…!
Anima wrung every scrap of thought from her mind, but nothing that could break this situation would come. All those nights shut away in a mountain shack, devouring treatise after treatise on strategy—and for what?
Damn it…!
When she had lost her arm and could no longer hold a sword, the fact itself had not been so devastating. She had only taken up the blade because she needed to learn something—anything. She had neither attachment nor talent for the path of the sword. In her Academy days, the moments that filled Anima with exhilaration had never been about her own ability; they had been the moments she watched her childhood friend Yuuri's gifts fully bloom. So she had abandoned the life of a swordsman cleanly, without wandering, and thrown herself into the study required to become a strategist.
When she first began leading the Asius army, she had believed the path of the strategist was truly hers. The generals under her were exceptional in their respective fields, yes—but she had firmly believed she, too, was performing something only she could do among them. Even when she handed the position of State Tactician to Zinor Nighthart, that conviction had not changed.
But…
Was I nothing more than an ordinary person all along?
Was that why, of the five of us, I was simply the first to lose my place?
Yuuri was superior to her in every respect. Of that single fact, Anima herself was more certain than anyone. And if, from the moment Yuuri chose Zinor, Anima's role had already been fulfilled…
…Get a hold of yourself!
Slap!
Anima struck her own cheek hard. Staying in this carriage was dangerous. Soldiers were guarding it, but if the enemy decided a carriage like this was worth seizing first, the commander inside would be captured.
I have to get out of here…!
Having made that judgment, Anima opened the carriage door and carefully scanned her surroundings. Fortunately, the enemy's reach had not yet extended this far.
"A-Anima, my lady! This place is dangerous!"
One of the soldiers guarding the carriage spotted her and spoke in urgent tones—but Anima looked at him and answered as calmly as she could, so that he might steady himself.
"I intend to leave this position for now. If you would, may I ask you to cover me?"
"Anima, my lady…!"
Understanding what leaving this place meant, the soldier looked at her face in silence—then nodded heavily, as if steeling himself.
"…Understood! I will protect you no matter what."
"Thank you. That is a great comfort."
Anima managed a composed smile and, with the soldier's support, carefully stepped down from the carriage.
"This way, my lady. I will see that you are… kept… safe…"
"…?"
Anima barely caught the soldier as he collapsed toward her, supporting him with her one arm, and looked at his face. All at once—as if a human being had simply broken—the expression had vanished from it. And then she noticed: a sword had punched through his armor and into his abdomen.
"!!!"
Shunk!
As the blade was wrenched free, a fountain of bright red blood sprayed out and soaked Anima. The Asius soldier—or rather, the man who had been a soldier—crumpled to the ground. Behind him, a black-haired middle-aged man holding a blood-slicked sword stepped into view.
A giant of a man to rival Ernandof, radiating an overwhelming aura as if he had been born on the battlefield and lived for nothing else.
"…!!!"
The moment Anima saw his face, something clicked. This man… was missing an eye. A deep sword scar marked the closed lid, and he made no effort to hide it. And only then did she understand the true identity of the "Serpina forces" deployed at the rear.
"…Sad Astron…?"
"Ho."
Sad Astron. Captain of the Astron Mercenary Corps—the most notorious of the free companies, specialists in ambush warfare. Unlike other mercenary bands that, once sworn to a nation, fought for that nation alone, the Astrons would do anything for the right price, and so were regarded as faithless even by mercenary standards. But their competence was thoroughly proven; any lord who could afford their fee found them an irresistible asset.
So they were working under Serpina's army now?
"You know me, do you? Hah! That's why a man has to make a name for himself. Even a one-eyed cripple gets treated like a person!"
"…"
"That aside—you're a pretty little thing. Dragging a carriage onto a battlefield? Are all of Asius's commanders this thoughtless? …Wait."
Sad's gaze, raking her up and down, locked on the cloak draped over her right shoulder.
"…"
Swish!
His sword flicked out and swept the right side of the cloak aside. Anima did not bother to dodge. There was nothing there to protect. And the instant he confirmed that the place where an arm should have been held nothing at all, he threw his head back and laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world.
"So that's it. That's why you brought a carriage. Just as I'd heard—a woman with fire in her belly. Anima Ingram!"
Anyone who walked the battlefields knew that the strategist of Asius was missing an arm. It was the same principle by which she had recognized him from a single missing eye.
"Well now. I've hooked a bigger fish than I expected."
"…!"
"Whoa, whoa. No need to glare like that. You'll ruin that pretty face. Fellow cripples ought to stick together, don't you think?"
Anima knew, with absolute certainty. This moment was every bit as dangerous as the day the Academy had been attacked.
…We're running out of time…!
Ernandof fought on, refusing to yield even as his whole body ran with blood—but he could feel the soldiers pressing in from the rear drawing closer by the moment. Not long after the fighting began, he had realized they were surrounded on both sides. His plan had been to smash Serpina's front as quickly as possible, then turn and destroy the force behind them piece by piece. But—
"Hyaaah!"
Clang!
Irian, spear in hand, and the rest of them were not collapsing so easily.
At this rate, Anima is in danger…!
If the fight dragged on, defeat was inevitable. Even the finest general could not easily overcome a disparity in numbers. And it was not only numbers—the rear had been all but ambushed, so they would fall that much more helplessly.
Damn it all…!
After Anima stepped down from the strategist's seat, Ernandof had come to feel that everything was his fault. Because he had not been skilled enough, he had failed to properly execute the plans she proposed. Those failures had piled up, one upon another, until it had come to this. He believed that with all his heart.
So he had poured still more hours into tempering his body. Whenever there was fighting to be done, he was the first to the front. He wanted to grow stronger than even those outstanding generals Emma and Epinel, strong enough to make Yuuri reconsider. It was the same this time. He had told her she could order him to do anything. He had promised he would win. Was that not why he had driven himself through such brutal training, right up to this very day?
Hah… hah…
His vision was beginning to blur. He had lost too much blood. If he did not pull back now, he might truly die.
But—
I will not lose…!
To the very last moment, he would fight with the resolve to keep his promise. If nothing else, he would take the head of that green boy Irian. Even if he died here—he would not let Anima be remembered as a failed strategist. That single conviction alone drove him on, lashing him forward even as his life guttered out.
"Uwaaaaaaah!!!!!"
Already half-drenched in blood, Ernandof roared and tore into the enemy ranks. The sight alone was enough to strike terror into Serpina's army.
"A m-monster!"
"Don't lose your nerve! He's still just one general! Surround him and concentrate your attacks—bring him down! Achil! Berdo! Get over here! We finish him in one stroke! I'm joining you!"
At Irian's shout, Serpina's soldiers began to re-form their lines, and several officers spurred their horses into view.
"Yes, sir!"
"We follow the general!"
…Come on, then… you little whelp…!!!
Just as Irian and two of Serpina's officers charged Ernandof together—
The atmosphere of the battlefield shifted, abruptly and completely.
"Pull the troops back!"
"Prepare to withdraw! Fall back!"
"…?"
Irian's expression, a moment ago set on charging in, turned grave at a glance. And before long…
Serpina's army began to draw its forces back.
"…What… is this?"
Ernandof watched Serpina's troops retreat and wondered. What on earth had happened?
At some hour no one could name, in the royal keep of Valharat Castle—
In the very moment when Yuuri and all the others waited in tense silence—
Creeeak—
The doors of the audience chamber opened, and a young man with white hair walked slowly toward the throne.
"Swen, you've returned safely! How did it go?"
"…"
The white-haired man—Swen—knelt and delivered his report to his lord, Yuuri.
"…I was not too late."
"Truly?"
"Yes."
Swen raised his head, a thoroughly confident smile on his face. And then he spoke the words she had most wanted to hear.
"Do not worry. Serpina's army will retreat."